Syzygy Sailing

I’ve heard married friends say they nearly got divorced over curtain, rug, and paint color choices, and — maybe because I’m a 31-year-old bachelor — always laughed at such stories. Those stories, incidentally, normally ended with the wife making a decision and saying to her husband: Trust me. You’ll love it.

Then I bought a boat, and, apparently, without my noticing, I got married to Matt and Jonny. Thus began remarkably similar dramatic domestic disputes.

Three months ago, at the end of a frustrating trip in which we a) didn’t fix the engine b) didn’t go sailing c) spent lots of money and d) ended up frazzled, we ran into Rafael. Rafael makes custom cushions, mattresses, and seats for sailboats. He showed us his work on other sailboats in the marina, and we were impressed.

Nevertheless, we weren’t in the mood to spend more money. Somehow, though, Matt convinced us — he must have waved a pendulum in front of my eyes — that it would behoove us to redo our 30-year-old cushions/mattresses/seats with new foam and covers less, uh, overtly heinous. The way Matt saw it, Rafael’s Mexico prices were a mere fraction of what we’d pay back in the states, and besides, he couldn’t stomach looking at our yellowing faux-Navajo patterns any longer. He had a point there.

So we told Rafael to bring us a few books of fabric swatches, with a wide variety of choices. This he did.

I liked modern, pattern-less designs. Abstract. Random. Colorful.

Jonny and Matt didn’t like my choices. They called them tacky, kitschy, and straight-out-of-the-1950’s.

Jonny liked blues. Matt liked reds. Or maybe it was vice versa. Whatever it was, none of us agreed.

So we rejected the first one thousand samples that Rafael had brought, and told him to bring more. He returned with another thousand, and after quickly rejecting 95% of them, we asked to keep them overnight, apparently out of stubbornness. Such is the nature of marriage.

After dinner, we discussed:

Q: “What about this yellow?”
A: “Are you on drugs?”

…The night wore on…

Q: “I kinda like this one. Waddya think?”
A: “It looks like a 50’s rug. We’re buying cushions. Not rugs.”

…And on…

Q: “This one?”
A: “Too thin, easy to rip, and goddamn it, Jon, stop picking patterns you know we’ll hate.”

Eventually, someone said, ‘If we end up with that color on the boat, I’m dropping out of the trip.” You think I’m exaggerating.

By the wee hours of the morning, Matt and I reluctantly agreed to agree on a color that Jonny had previously brought to our attention. Then Jonny flipped a 180, said he had visualized it, and hated it, and that we were making a grave mistake.

In the end it came down to a bluish beige called something like periwinkle cream (or something equally silly) that Matt favored, and a green-ish beige that I favored. In true womanly fashion, part of my objection was because I simply didn’t like the name. Jonny didn’t really like either of them, I think, but was tired of the impasse. He came down on the side of the blue, leaving me as the lone hold-out.

Matt left for home early the next morning, before we’d made a decision. Before leaving, he made one small concession: He said if it came to it, he’d settle for the green, but that he strongly preferred the blue. The he advised Jonny to persuade me.

By that point, though, Jonny favored a sleazy leopard-skin print, and I’m still not sure if he was joking.

So with Matt, the husband, gone, I did when any good wife would do. When Rafael dropped by, I told him we’d take the green. Sorry Matt. Sorry Jonny. But trust me – You’ll love it.